In the eye of a hurricane
by guineapig673
Summary: There is quiet, if only for a moment. [Reupload since the last one formatted wrong and I couldn't fix it.]


"I am leaving." The words hung uncomfortably in the air, as they rightfully should have. The dark ginger cat cleared her throat awkwardly, her distinctively curled ears flattened to her skull. Prozan didn't want to look at her father, her amber eyes choosing to rest on anywhere but the fellow Chausie mix's sharply angled face. "I…I thought that you would like to know this," she said after what seemed like forever, actively struggling not to break down and show even the smallest hint of the hurricane of emotion that was currently raging inside her.

He had figured that there was a reason for her waking him up (no point in trying to wake Hawktalon; as much as he loved them, the damned cat slept like a log). He just didn't expect it to be this. The faux tortoiseshell blinked agonizingly slowly, trying to process this information. Though it wasn't as if he particularly wanted to, he had lost enough children over the years. Enough family, enough friends, enough lovers. More people than he wanted to count. "And where do you think you're going, exactly?" Duncan's pale eyes narrowed in a mixture of suspicion and concern, and the words he uttered were practically a growl. He shifted his position slightly on the chilled earth.

"Where else?" Her voice was low and weary, and she cut off in her speech to twist her broad head around and steal a glance at the silver emblem etched into her back. She then met her father's eyes, determination blazing in her darker pair (though, there was also a hint of something else). "It is obvious that this still means something. I truthfully don't think it would have remained with me otherwise." Prozan then took a deep breath, momentarily closing her eyes and digging her claws into the soil beneath her. "I thought I would feel a sense of belonging, being here with you and Mother and, well, everyone else. And I did, at first. Sort of." Her face scrunched up in concentration as she tried to articulate her thoughts. "I was happy, somewhat. But then I grew bored, and restless. Getting away, forming a Clan of my own, all of that—it seemed like an answer. It seemed **_right_**. But then there was that stupid volcano, and—I can rebuild it. I **have to** rebuild it." The moggy shook out her long coat, standing up a little straighter despite the slight tremble in her step. "I have to," she repeated dimly, the fire in her eyes dulling somewhat. "…I **need to**."

For just a moment, his expression betrayed the fear he was feeling, then it smoothed back into the usual mask. In just a moment, he moved faster than ever before, jolting to his feet (subsequently ignoring the stabbing pain that shot up his injured leg and spine at the motion) and coming up from behind her, almost as if to prevent her from leaving by blocking her with his body. "Sweetheart. Look at me for a second? That's a damned suicide mission; surely, you know that? One would hope that you know that," he pleaded, harsh gaze softening ever so briefly. "Last I'd heard, everything was covered in, to put it extremely bluntly, _liquid death_." Duncan's lip curled in distaste, but overall his concern for her outweighed just about any other emotion he was feeling in the moment. "How can you be so sure that you won't die the minute you get back?" _How can **I** be sure?_ "Would be a shitty way to end it all, if you ask me..." He let himself trail off.

Prozan could quite easily have overpowered him, but simply chose not to for the time being. "Father," the stockier of the two began. The difference in body type between kin was nearly comical, but this wasn't exactly the time for comedy. "I know you don't like to or want to, but trust in the ancestors for once. They will guide my path, I know of it. They always have, and what bad I have experienced in this life so far has merely been…an obstacle. A test. Even if I didn't realize it at the time. They have looked out for me, shaped my destiny from quite possibly the moment I was born." How much of this did she actually believe? He'd certainly heard the words before, from various mouths. All rehashes of the same phrasing. "To me, this is just the next leg of the journey. As tiring as it seems." The dark ginger cat chuckled wearily, tired eyes flicking over the faux tortoiseshell's considerably bonier form. She had aged in that span of two years, and not just physically. It frightened her, sometimes, looking back at herself and how she had changed from the happy-go-lucky kitten she used to be. If she happened to meet her younger self, would either of them recognize the other? That was debatable, most certainly.

The older moggy grimaced, his whip-like tail lashing once before falling still again. "Pigs can't fly, can they? Won't happen. I stick to my beliefs. And you can believe that whatever random shit they all spew is prophecy if you want—I don't care about that part in the least—but I will **not** allow you to just throw the rest of your life away like that." Duncan ground his teeth for a moment before speaking again; a habit of his, born out of frustration and nervousness. "As much as I'd cheer and theoretically jump for joy if half the world up and died one day, I care about you. And I know a lot of other people do, too. So. Don't do this." He'd gotten to know her, in those few years. She was stubborn as him. Prideful, too. She thankfully hadn't inherited his more explosive, abrasive nature, but she felt things strongly and voiced her opinions. He supposed it was nice to know he'd contributed something to her makeup other than a rare pelt coloration and somewhat impressive height. "I would rather not lose you." The last words came out more hushed than expected.

"And I am **not** throwing away my life by doing this," she shot back without skipping a beat, the fur along her spine beginning to bristle. "I can assure you. I have faith, as little as that means to you. And that is all I need in this situation." The fire returned to her gaze then, her amber eyes hardening. "You are not going to lose me, not now at least. I plan to stick around for a good, long while. And it's not like we're never going to see each other again." Prozan may have stated that last part with complete confidence, but her conviction was no doubt utterly faked. What with various looming threats, who knew what would happen to either of them past this conversation? He would at least pull through, she knew that. She could only hope that her ancestors (among the ghosts of many, many others) saw fit for her to live, as well. She could only assume that everything would be so kind to her. **Pray** , even.

Duncan glared at her through slitted eyes for a while, struggling to think of what to say next. One thing was clear, though; he did not want her to leave. He did not want to lose another child. The older cat bared his teeth, ears flattening somewhat. "Like hell I will," he spat, icy eyes blazing with barely-controlled fury. A long, deeply uncomfortable silence followed. "You're one of the only daughters I've got left, and I don't particularly feel like disowning you for doing something completely stupid." He was shaking, though whether it was with rage, fear, or simply just his weaker body giving up on him again was questionable. Perhaps it was a mixture of several, or all three. More than likely the latter. "Even if Misha manages to drag Sago and Fiyero back, you'll more than likely only have three cats. How long will it take you to build everything up a second time? You'll be starting pretty much from scratch."

"Having gotten to know you over these past few years, Father, I sincerely doubt you'll hold up to that threat." Prozan stated, fluffing up her fur defensively (plus, it was kind of cold out there). "You've changed from how you used to be, as much as you're trying to hide the full scope of that from yourself. You couldn't bear to destroy your relationship with one of the few people you care about in any matter, and I know how much it hurts that half of my siblings won't even look your way, let alone talk to you. And, I never stated that I would be forcing any of them to do anything, so there's that. Still, though. You've got a point. Knowing my brother's mate as I do, it's more than likely Misha will try and go with me, regardless of his real feelings on the matter. He just wants to keep everyone safe and genuinely cares for their well-being, and I admire that in a person. Even if he can be slightly oblivious at times, there was most definitely a reason I chose him for my deputy. Even if I didn't quite realize it at the time." At this, she sighs softly, eyes glazing over. At least none of them had died, though others certainly had. Who knew where half her nieces and nephews were currently? She certainly hoped that they were still alive, and out there somewhere. Out of the corner of her eye, she'd watched friends be swallowed up by lava, heard their screaming. It still haunted her at night. Prozan shuddered at the thought, drawing in on herself.

He grunted in response, eyes flicking briefly to the ground in front of him before returning to her face. "I see you have me figured out." Duncan said slowly. The old tomcat was tensed up in an almost painful manner, his stature far more rigid than hers. "Then again, I shouldn't be so surprised at that. You always **were** perceptive," he said, and punctuated this particular sentence with a scoff. "Tch. I don't doubt he will. Never particularly cared to get to know him intimately, but I know enough." Really, he was only about a foot away from her, maybe a little less. And so he inched closer, closing the gap between them and resting his chin on her head. The dark tortoiseshell let out a long, shaky groan. Shit, was he **_crying_**? She was as well; listening closer, he picked up on the poorly-muffled sound of her sobbing. "…I don't like this," he growled low in his throat. "You know I absolutely fucking hate goodbyes."

"I am aware," she responded faintly, shifting a little closer. Curling into him, not that his body amounted to much more than a fur-covered sack of bones. She stayed like that for a long time, weeping. Who knew that she'd come to care this much about a deadbeat father, among other things? Well…certainly not Prozan herself, that was for sure. It baffled her, really. But, she wasn't entirely complaining. It was nice to have someone to lean on (whether emotionally or physically), however much of an utter train wreck of a person that specific someone was. Though at least he was trying to clean up his act. She appreciated that, even if most of her kin did not. He was trying.

An uncomfortably long silence passed (well, what could pass for silence in this situation, that was). Eventually, though, he spoke, making a valiant attempt at clearing his throat. The pain in his eyes was increasingly evident. "Don't," he choked out once again, the feeblest of pleas. Most certainly, their relationship was not a particularly healthy one. Father and daughter had fallen into a sort of codependency, though it wasn't obvious at first glance. But, it was far more stable than Duncan's relationship with the vast majority of his children, something more than casual indifference or vehement hatred at the very least. More stable than most of his relationships in general had been, or would be. And there was something to be said for that, if you so chose to comment on it. "I love you." The words were oddly hollow-sounding, and there was an uncomfortable weight to them. He repeated the sentence, softer this time. Encircled her as best he could, her shaking body moving his own in turn.

And she was the next to break a long stretch of near-silence, almost predictably. "You know," she began shakily, through painfully loud, gasping sobs. "I never thought that we of all people would end up like this. Never thought that I'd end up like you, even." Prozan took a few deep breaths, attempting to stabilize herself as she leaned away from her father. "Then again, I guess I should have expected it because you're my father and all. History **does** repeat itself, doesn't it?" The she-cat didn't wait for an answer, simply continued rambling. It wasn't as if the old tom really had an answer to give her, anyway (or so she thought). "You left your children. And so, it comes time for me to leave mine. The cycle continues. I guess that, in some manner, it's nearly funny. Nearly. I don't think they'll miss me," she laughed as she said this, and it's a broken and twisted sound. Gut-wrenching. "Why would they? I wasn't exactly around. Wasn't there the day they opened their eyes. Was rarely there to listen to their troubles, and I'm not so willing to shed the blame that I'd just pin it on the fact that Lynxjaw and I are in different Clans. It isn't that simple, not by a long shot."

Duncan let out a long, low sigh. "…In some manner, that's true. But. Prozan." He'd never liked having to use full names, even with the ones he was close to. Even with the ones who cared little for him. They were always too formal for his tastes, too stuffy. He's moved a bit, so that he can look her in the eyes. Unblinking, he speaks. "They will survive. And hey, this may or may not be the worst fucking advice I have ever given someone in my entire life, but if they genuinely don't remember who you are, then." The bigger cat paused, but only to take a breath, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation in the meantime. My, his entire family was a wreck, weren't they? Even the ones he held up on a pedestal, the ones who he cared for far more than he cared about himself. Than he ever **would** care about himself, even. "Sweetheart. The point I'm trying to make here is that they'll live. In the end, they'll live. You gotta live, too." He was angry, certainly. Angry at **her** , for leaving. Angry at the spirits he'd long since turned his back on, for doing this to her. Angry at **himself** , for starting all of this in the first place. And perhaps, he was cracking a little. Just a little bit. "Sure, they might wonder, but they'll move on." It was damn bad advice, all things considered.

"Is it just me thinking this, or are you trying to convince yourself of this as well?" Prozan queried, raising a brow. "Because it sure feels that way." She'd flinched at the use of her full name; true, there wasn't exactly many nicknames to make from it to begin with, but clearly, he was attempting to be serious in the moment. She was familiar with his way of speaking by now, perhaps a little more familiar than she would have originally liked to be. "…I know they'll live. My numerous siblings, half-siblings, and I have all lived in a way, haven't we? But. I cannot help but feel guilty. Yet I know I can't take any of them with me. They don't deserve to have me rip them away from their homes, their lives. The kids are happy where they are. I can't rob them of that." The stocky she-cat made a low, guttural noise in the back of her throat, and for a moment it seemed as though she would start crying again. But, she did not.

He paused a moment to think, then answered honestly. No point in hiding anything now. "A little of both," Duncan finally admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "Sure as hell can't repay what I did with any of you kids, but, well. Shit never works out in the way we want it to, does it? That's life for 'ya." The old tomcat cleared his throat, wincing as he did so. "Y'don't have to, y'know. Nothing's saying that you do. I'm not saying that, your ma's not saying that, if those starry bastards are whispering that in your ears, I swear on my blackened old heart that I'll rip every single one of their throats out without mercy. You can take some time to gather your thoughts, say goodbye to everyone if you want. Think your ex'll understand. I mean, if she doesn't, she'll have me to deal with, but-"

"Father. For your sake, my offspring's sake, and my own sake, **_do not murder my ex-mate_**." Prozan glared at him for a brief few moments, her amber eyes narrowed to slits. "Or, preferably, anyone else. I would prefer that you not be exiled." _Truthfully, if they managed to shove you out for good, I'm not sure you could survive the winter. Even with the fact that you can't truly die being entered into the equation_ , she thought to herself. Duncan could put up a good fight when the mood struck (perhaps he would have been a -claw cat, had he chosen to take on a Clan name? She wasn't sure; it was immensely difficult to imagine her father following Clan customs in the first place. Perhaps -storm, that sounded about right. Or -throat), sure, but, point being, he was practically centuries older than her in cat-time. Several decades, at the ultimate least. Prozan truthfully couldn't even remember the last time he'd gone out on a hunt and had actually caught something, apart from the few unlucky forest creatures here and there which he'd presumably bashed against a rock or squashed in order to kill. And he'd mostly played with those and then left them to rot, claiming that he wasn't hungry when he was clearly famished. Featherstar only let him stay in RapidClan's ranks because he kept the medicine cat going at a good pace (and, she mused later on, he had provided the Clan with fresh blood in the form of numerous children. Never mind the fact that most of those children were now dead and gone, and Prozan knew how much her half-sister liked her Clan to run like a well-oiled machine. She'd heard whispers of Featherstar's owing Duncan some kind of debt, as well. Shaking her head, she attempted to derail an oncoming train of thought. "I will admit, I am torn. But, considering my options…I do not plan on leaving tonight. It is bitterly cold out, and since I don't know if the portals will appear again, I may have to walk the entire way. I do not fancy my journey ending so quickly." Speaking of the cold, it was too bad that she couldn't fluff her fur out any more than she already had done; that ability would have come in handy right about now. Even with the benefit of having a longer coat than most cats did, the chill still reached her bones.

"Didn't specifically say I was going to go around killing everyone," he countered in a (quite disturbingly) joking manner, puffing out his chest a little. "But maim, sure. Maybe. If I feel like it." Duncan cleared his throat, pausing a few moments before speaking again, his tone more serious this time. "…Well, y'certainly didn't get that logical mind of yours from me, kid," he muttered somewhat awkwardly. "That's for sure." There was a long silence, then he rested his muzzle on top of her head and closed his eyes, sighing low in his throat. But, it didn't take long for him to open one eye again (and it happened to be the slightly weaker one), his gaze settling on her forehead. "Mmm. Promise me one thing? And it ain't something morally dubious, I can say that confidently here."

So, it most certainly was not normal for her paws to be going numb from the cold. Hopefully she didn't have frostbite. Her father was full-on shivering now, try as he might to put up a façade of everything being completely fine. Prozan could only hope that her mother was okay back in RapidClan's campground, what with their much shorter fur and anemia. "I was going to ask; glad you clarified." There was a bit of snark to her tone, but it quickly dissipated. Now was not the time. "I'm all…well, I'm **mostly** ears." To prove a point, she twitched a long, curled ear. "Go on."

Duncan made a strange noise in the back of his throat, not really having the energy to laugh by this point; nor was he particularly in the mood for much in terms of humor. It just wasn't the time for it. "Promise me that you'll at least say goodbye to your ma. Pa. Whatever. Doesn't matter; Hawktalon's Hawktalon." The moggy lazily waved a front paw in the air as he spoke, the adrenaline brought on by the previous events of this conversation clearly petering out. "What the hell am I even saying, I'm old. _Anyways_. Would be a bit unfair otherwise, considering they raised you and all. 'Least, for a while." His tone was clearly implying other things, but the words he'd spoken weren't any less truthful, or effective.

"I know," she murmured, leaning into his willowy form once again. Those two words contained more meaning than she'd ever admit. Prozan was snapped out of her once-again wandering thoughts at the realization that Duncan was slipping. "…Father." When he didn't respond, she said his name again, more urgent this time. Gave him a prod in the side with her muzzle for good measure, as well. "Are you…falling asleep?"

The tomcat opened his eyes with a considerable amount of effort, grumbling under his breath. He squinted up at the moon in silence for what seemed like forever, then slowly began to speak. "Maybe so," he replied, withdrawing from her embrace and getting to his feet after a brief struggle. "Guess we should take that as a sign to head back, ehh?" Duncan yawned loudly, shaking out his fur. His eyes never left her for too long, and there was quiet concern in his gaze, in addition to worry.

She pretended not to notice the concern radiating off of him, well, any further than she **already** had done; better to get out of the cold now than to stand here talking and slowly freezing to death. Plus, she'd probably start crying again if she let herself pause for enough time. This conversation could very well be continued later, and besides, she had some things to work through. Prozan was, in short, exhausted. Crying took a lot out of a cat, especially when said cat was an emotional wreck to begin with. Hopefully there'd be room in the warriors' den when they returned, she didn't fancy having to sit with her face shoved out in the cold for lack of available sleeping room. "I am going to miss you," she stated finally, standing up as well and rubbing her head against his lower jaw. The gesture was an intimate one, usually reserved for life partners, but she felt it fitting in the moment.

Duncan chuckled weakly, pushing his muzzle into the longer section of fur covering her head. He took a deep breath as if to memorize her scent, and then the two moggies both turned and started walking back to the RapidClan camp. The elderly tomcat leaned against his daughter more heavily than usual.


End file.
